James Bond, as any fule kno, drinks martinis. And Scaramanga, his arch-enemy in The Man With The Golden Gun, is an elegant assassin in a Pacific island hideaway. Except none of that is true, outside the very narrow world of the movies. In Ian Fleming’s novel, Scaramanga is an assassin, but with a rather prosaic sideline:Continue reading “‘A sort of inn, where they were drinking pink gin’”
The Curiously Specific Book Club 